His first mistake was underestimating himself- thinking he was too weak and inexperienced to balance every component of his life, because he thought he had to do it alone. He noticed when he began to sink, but he still pushed them all away, because he thought he could only have one- either his opportunity or community. He knew he was becoming more detached through the progression of his success and the more time he took away from his own want, because he told himself the could wait for him.

They WOULD wait for him, he thought. They'd wait for him even after he pushed them away, even when he told them off, because... because what? What reason would they have to stay? Why would they when they'd pounded on the the wall he'd built between them, and he'd still walked away? He made himself believe that they still cared, even when he knew he didn't, so it still hurt when they turned their backs and walked away in turn, and this time it was his knuckles that bled as he beat on the glass, screaming, angry. But then, it didn't hurt- nothing did, because every little vessel that went from the bottle, to his palm, to his lips made it stop hurting. The money, the thing that had him once wrapped around its finger, didn't mean anything anymore, only every pill down his throat, because he didn't hurt anymore. He didn't FEEL.

And so he didn't cry- not when his fingers went cold and his chest tightened with breaths, because he didn't care and because he thought no one else did, just because he let one person set his standard. Even when warp hands and lips pressed to his own hands and his face, and tears that weren't his own fell for him, he didn't feel and didn't car, because he'd locked himself away. He'd created a world of lies for himself, and even when the world went dark to his mind, as well as every other, he never allowed himself to see past that darkness he'd made for himself.